


little scraps of wisdom

by Radiday



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiday/pseuds/Radiday
Summary: The splayed wood where the lock once was left Archie wondering not if, but who kicked the front door in. And how the hell he didn’t hear anything.Or, they talked about Hiram going after Fred like three different times in the last episode, and you know what they say about introducing a gun in the first act … so this is my attempt at firing it.





	1. Chapter 1

Car keys. _Check_. Wallet. _Check_. Cell phone. _Check_. Truck. _Check_. His dad wouldn’t leave home without any of those things, and they were all still here. So where the hell was he?

It didn’t take long for Archie to get worried. Fred’s always up at the crack of dawn, although Archie _has_ been waking him up earlier and earlier thanks to his punching bag. But he wasn’t downstairs today, wasn’t sipping a cup of coffee at the island, didn’t come into Archie’s room after being woken up at four in the morning.

He wasn’t home. Nowhere to be found. Vegas hadn’t been fed, hadn’t been walked, his water bowl was empty. Archie already had his phone in hand, ready to call the police, when he saw the broken door. The splayed wood where the lock once was left Archie wondering not if, but _who_ kicked the front door in. And how the hell he didn’t hear anything. 


	2. Chapter 2

He calls FP, and Jughead comes too, as his unofficial deputy, because a missing person isn’t a missing person until they’ve been gone for 24 hours, and even though everybody in the room knows that Fred would never just _leave_ , FP’s too new to the job to expend extra resources just yet. Archie takes them through the kitchen and living room, pointing out all the things that Fred left behind, that he should’ve taken with him if he was going anywhere willingly. Not that they need convincing.

“They took him,” Archie says, words pouring out of him as fast as his heart is beating. “Hiram. Hiram’s men. They took him. I knew this was going to happen. I should have never come ba-”

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down, Red,” FP says. He says his next words slowly, choosing them carefully as Archie was on edge. They all were. “Look, your dad and I went to see Hiram, the day before he was shot. Your dad -- he told Hiram he was going to kill him if anything happened to you.”

“So this _is_ my fault.”

“No, Arch, that’s not what he’s saying,” Jughead says. “But maybe one of Hiram’s goonies caught wind of what your dad said and after he got shot…”

Archie feels himself getting more and more riled up, doesn’t know how to stop it. His dad would, he thinks. Fred always knew what to do. “What? You think my dad _shot_ Hiram? He would never do that!”

“No, of course not, kid. That’s not even something we’re considering.” He pauses, removing his sheriff’s hat and pinching the rim tight.  “But maybe whoever took you’re old man thought he did. There were two bodyguards in the room when Fred and I were at the Pembrooke. Maybe they know something.”

“Yeah,” Archie says. “They’re guarding Hiram’s hospital room.”

Jughead shakes his head. “They’re not gonna talk. Especially not to us, with the Serpents protecting Veronica.” He elbows Archie gently.  “Can you talk to her?”

“Who, Veronica? No, she thinks _I_ shot Hiram.”

\----

FP asks to see upstairs next, so Archie leads them up into the master bedroom, and is quick to notice the unmade bed. He peeks into Fred’s closet, checking the laundry basket that lay on the floor for any sign of the clothes he wore to bed the night before. It’s empty.

“So he’s probably still wearing them,” Jughead offers.

FP nods along. “And the only sign of forced entry is the front door. After they got in, I’d say Fred went with ‘em without much of a fight.”

“And you didn’t hear anything, Archie?” Jughead asks, and Archie shakes his head, trying to avoid the narrowing gaze Jughead’s shooting him.

“Alright,” the FP says, clasping a hand on Archie’s shoulder. “I’m gonna start looking around town. See if anyone saw anything.”

“And I’ll dispatch the Serpents,” Jughead says. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“I’m coming with,” Archie says.

“Not dressed like that,” Jughead says, gesturing to Archie’s worn out Riverdale High shorts and t-shirt. “It’s freezing out. Come on, you gotta change.”

Archie knows he’s doomed as soon as Jughead closes the door behind them once they’re in his bedroom. “Alright, you gonna tell me what’s really going on?”

“What do you mean?” Archie asks, voice muffled by the shirt he’s taking off.

“Hiram’s men break into your house and you don’t hear anything?”

“I was asleep!”

“You were asleep, or you were passed out drunk?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh come on, Archie,” Jughead says, breathing heavy. He stands on his toes, nose to nose with Archie, steely gaze boring into Archie’s nervous one. “ I’m insulted that you think I don’t know what a drunk looks like.”

Archie swallows, eyes drifting unconsciously to the desk drawer where he keeps his dirty little secret. Jughead notices, and reaches for the knob before Archie can stop him. He pulls out the glass bottle, holds it up to his face to read the label, then shoves it into Archie’s. “What the hell is this, then?”

“It’s nothing,” Archie says, reaching for the bottle. Jughead pulls it away.

“It doesn't look like nothing.”

Archie opens his mouth to protest but is cut off by FP’s voice bellowing from the bottom of the stairs. “Boys! Let’s get a move on!”

Jughead puts the bottle back in the drawer, sliding it shut. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Please don’t tell anybody,” Archie says, desperation swimming in his eyes.

_We’ll talk about this later.”_

They’re quick to meet FP downstairs, formulating a plan to divide and conquer the surrounding area  to see if anyone heard or saw anything. FP and some of the older, retired gang members would tackle Riverdale, while Jughead, Archie, and the rest of the Serpents would cover Greendale and Centerville. They agree to meet back at the house that afternoon, and FP promises that if they hadn’t heard anything by then, he’d put out a full missing persons alert. 24 hours be damned.

They’re just about out the door when Archie pulls on Jughead’s arm. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“You said the Serpents were keeping watch. You said they would protect me and my dad. Where the hell were they?”


	3. Chapter 3

“At what point did you think it was okay to abandon watch on the Andrews, huh? You were assigned to watch them and make sure nothing happened to them. That’s it! You couldn’t do that one thing right!”

They’re in the bunker, and Archie suddenly feels like he’s out of place. Watching Jughead yell at Sweet Pea and Fangs feels too much like he’s intruding on a personal family matter; feels too much like when Jughead got grounded by Mrs. Jones for stealing Jellybean’s lemonade stand money, when Gladys yelled at his friend right there in front of him, and Archie thought that he should go, because he overheard Fred telling Mary that the Jones’ were short on money and he knew Mrs. Jones would insist he stay for dinner-

“Jug, you don’t understand!” Fangs starts, knocking Archie out of his thoughts. “We  _ were _ on watch. Every night. But then you said-”

“What? What did I say?” 

Archie’s backed up against the corner of the room, trying his best to stay out of the way, trying his best not to look at the far end of the underground tunnel, where the bed Veronica patched him up still his. He hasn’t been down here since then,  _ since he got broken out of jail,  _ and he thinks that if he could trace this mess back to where it turned to shit, that would be the moment. 

“You told us to stop,” Sweet Pea says, his voice high with panic as he scrolls through the text messages on his phone. “Look.”  He thrusts the phone into Jughead’s hand. “You said you were going to cover the watch last night.”

Jughead stares at the phone for a minute then gives it to Archie. There, plain as day, is a message from Jughead, to Sweet Pea, which reads:  _ ‘I’ll b at the Andrews tonite. U guys take the nite off.’ _

He reads it, then reads it again, and finally looks up when Jughead says, “I didn’t send this. You should know I didn’t send this. It looks like a fourth grader sent this!”

“We’re sorry, man,” Fangs says. “We thought-”

Jughead shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Fred Andrews is missing.”

“What?” 

“Someone broke into the house and took him.”

“We didn’t know, man,” Sweet Pea says, stepping forward, throwing a sympathetic glance in Archie’s direction. 

“I know,” says Jughead, “but you’re going to help us find him.”

\----

“Jug! Jughead! Stop!” Archie can barely keep pace with his friend as they arrive at the steps of City Hall. 

“What, Archie? You said yourself Veronica’s not going to talk to you. So, we do the next best thing.”

“Do you really think Mayor Lodge is just going to  _ tell us _ what happened to my dad?

“If we ask nicely,” Jughead bites, and continues into the building, down the long, winding hallway as the reflection of the gold embellishments on the wall shine brightly in his eyes. 

Archie reaches for his friend’s arm. “Jughea-”

“Dude, do you even  _ care _ ? You’re dad is  _ missing _ and from what I can tell you’re not willing to do a damn thing about it! Hermione Lodge is our  _ only _ in to find out what happened, and you, what, you don’t want to talk to her because you don’t want to upset Veronica?”

“No,” Archie says, scrubbing his face. His head is still throbbing from the whiskey, his stomach sloshing. “I just - I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight.”

Jughead sighs and rubs Archie’s back a little. “You wait here. I’m gonna go and talk to her, okay?”

“But-”

“Let me handle this, okay, man? I got it.” 

Jughead stays long enough to watch Archie collapse onto the slick wooden bench outside the mayor’s office before storming in. He can hear the secretary call out to him, telling him he needs an appointment, but he doesn’t stop until he’s face to face with Hermione Lodge, mid phone call. 

“I’ll have to call you back,” she says into the phone, raising her eyebrows at the boy before her. “Jughead, what-”

“Did you shoot your husband?”

“Excuse me?”

Jugheads takes a seat across the desk from her and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped. “Fred Andrews is missing,” he says, willing himself to keep his voice firm and steady, 

_ “What?” _

“Someone broke down his front door and took him.”

Hermione waits for further explanation, but Jughead sits back in the chair and raises his eyebrows, looking at her expectantly. “I had nothing to do with this. I would never…”

“I’m not saying that you took him, Mayor Lodge. I’m saying you know who did.”

“I don’t,  Jughead. This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

Jughead scoffs. “I swear,” she adds.

“Right,” Jughead says, rising out of his seat and moving for the door. “Look, I know your husband has some sick, twisted obsession with Archie Andrews, but I really thought you cared enough about Fred-”

“I do!” Hermione says, stopping Jughead in his tracks. “Please… What- what is going on?”

Jughead takes a breath and sits back down, feeling his heartbeat slow down in his chest. “Our working theory is that whoever shot Hiram is letting Fred take the fall. Whoever took him thinks that he’s to blame and is now punishing him.”

“Fred wouldn’t…”

“No. Of course he wouldn’t. But Fred threatened Hiram two days ago and the only other people that knew about it besides my dad and Fred were Hiram and his two goonies. So, one of them, or  _ all _ of them, decided to get revenge.”

“Hiram would never-”

“Wouldn’t he?” Jughead says, cocking his head. “He tried to kill a sixteen-year-old kid. You think he wouldn’t go after a grown man?”

They sit in silence, Hermione unable to speak because she knows Jughead is right. Her husband would do much worse,  _ has _ done much worse. Jughead doesn’t blink, keeping his eyes fixed on her, waiting. 

“I’ll talk to him,” she whispers, “I’ll look into it.” 

Jughead doesn’t bother to thank her on his way out. 


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a throbbing pain on the left side of his head when he wakes up. He’s not surprised, they’d knocked him out when he’d gotten here. The last thing he remembers is getting shoved down the stairs of _some_ house _somewhere,_ trying to mentally calculate how many hours they were away from home, because they’d blindfolded him while they drove.

He’s got no idea where he is, no idea if they’ve done anything to Archie, and no idea if anyone knows he’s missing.

No, that’s not true. Archie would know. Archie would call FP, and he would know. _They know you’re gone,_  he thinks to himself, _and they’re coming for you._

He glances around the room, the cement wall cold against his back as he sits up. The basement is unfinished — grey cement walls, grey cement floor, bare of any furniture. There’s one small window way up where Fred can’t reach, emitting one singular beam of light. It must be daytime. That makes sense. He remembers waking up to Vegas’ mad barking at 2:30 in the morning — he’d checked the clock. It must still be morning, or later. He checks his wrist out of habit and makes a mental note to stop taking off his watch before bed.

He sits for what feels like hours, the beam of light remaining steady. It could almost be a spotlight, he thinks, and lets out a bitter laugh at the thought that comes next. At any other moment the memory of the spotlight on his son at the variety show all those months ago would make him smile. Right now it just makes it want to cry.

It hits him out of nowhere that he should be trying to get out of here, trying to find a way back to Riverdale, back to his son. He got _in_ from a door at the top of the stairs, so he can get _out_ from the door at the top of the stairs.

Or so he hoped.

It’s locked, bolted from the outside, most probably, and in a moment of desperation, Fred thinks he might be strong enough to break it down.

He slams into the door with full force four times before he hears a crack, and he thinks it’s the door giving way until he feels the pain shoot out of his shoulder. He looks down and sees a bump forming on his collarbone, recognizes the injury as the same one Archie got when he was seven and fell off the monkey bars. It’s definitely broken.

This is going to be harder than he thought.


	5. Chapter 5

“Anything?” Jughead says, rushing into the Andrews’ living room. Archie’s steps behind him, mouth set in an unmovable frown.

It’s late. Later than they’d planned to meet. The sun had set hours ago, but Archie refused to come back home until they’d exhausted every option, stopped at every place that Fred may have come by.

“No,” Sweet Pea says from where he sits in the arm of the sofa. “Look, we’ve been all over. Talked to Serpents in Greendale and Centerville. Nobody’s seen anything. We’re sorry, Jug.” 

“Jug,” FP says, leaning against the doorframe to the living room. “Did you boys find anything?”

They hadn’t. After stopping at the mayor’s office, he and Archie had gone to different gas stations and convenience stores, holding up a picture of Fred and asking to see their security footage. Only one out of the seven had let them, the others wanting a warrant and a uniform and maybe detectives that weren’t sixteen years old. 

Jughead tells them as such, then turns back to Sweet Pea. “What about the text I didn’t send?” 

Sweet Pea shakes his head. “It could’ve been anyone. There’s a ton of apps that make it look like a message is coming from one place when it’s really coming from another.” 

“So we’ve got nothing.”

“Wait,” Fangs says, loud enough that they almost the doorbell. Archie moves to open it as Fangs continues. “There is one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Jughead asks, turning his head just enough to see Hermione Lodge step into the house and stand nervously behind FP.

“Well, we were thinking,” Fangs says. “Tallboy said he was hiding out in Athens, right? Well there aren’t any Serpents out there, so maybe Hiram Lodge owns land or something where he was staying. What if they’re keeping Fred Andrews in the same place?”

Hermione shifts, and FP looks down at her. “Got something to say?” 

She steps forward into the room, trying to control her shaking hands by clutching her purse tighter against her thighs. “I talked to Hiram. He denies everything, of course. And there’s new bodyguards at the hospital. Georgio and Mark are gone, there’s two new men. I’ve never seen them before. They just said that the other two had some important business to take care of.”

“So it was them,” Archie says, more to himself than anyone else. Hermione jumps. He’d been so quiet she’d forgotten he was there.

Hermione nods. “I did some digging,” she says, pulling a manila folder from her purse. She opens it and gives it to FP, pointing to the page. “I found this on Hiram’s computer. Fangs is right, he does have property in Athens.” 

“425 West Appalachia,” FP says, reading the file.

“I’ve never been there. I didn’t even know it existed until I found the deed this afternoon.” 

“Should we head out there?” Sweet Pea asks. 

“No,” FP says, standing up straight. “I’ll go. Better to let go on official police business.”

“I’m coming with,” Archie says. 

FP knows better to argue with an Andrews on a mission. He’d been on the receiving end of their seething determination more than once. Both from Fred,  _ and _ from Mary. “You boys take the truck,” he says, nodding to Jughead. “But  _ do not _ get out of the car, do I make myself clear? Let me and the deputies handle it.” 

He collects his keys from the side table, secures the sheriff’s hat his head, and nods his thanks to the two other Serpents. Good work,” he says, “and thank you, Hermione.” 

She nods back, eyes fixed on the ground, ashamed at what her life his come to. At what her husband has made her life come to.

Jughead brushes past her on his way out the door, Archie on his heels. He still doesn’t thank her.


	6. Chapter 6

He was a Boy Scout once, back in the day. He’d gotten the first aid patch, knows somewhere in the deep recesses of his brain how to make a sling out of a towel or t-shirt. Except there’s no towels where he is now, and the only t-shirt he’s got is the one he’s wearing. Taking it off seems like a worse idea then leaving his now broken collarbone without a sling.

Carefully, he positions his left arm across his chest, knows he’s going to have to consciously keep it still if he doesn’t want to make it worse. Who knows how long he’ll be down here.

The pain is radiating down his arm and up his neck, sharp and gritty, and in a moment of bravery he reaches up to touch the swollen spot where the bone is broken. It feels like there’s an explosion in his body the second the soft pad of his fingers touches the hot skin.

Bad idea.

Part of him wants to sit, wait, until somebody comes down. He can feel the energy draining from his body, and he curses himself for being reckless with the door. He should’ve known better.

The more sensible part of him, the part that raised a child on his own, the part that runs his own business, knows that if he wants something done, he’s going to have to do it himself.

“Hey!” he shouts from the bottom of the stairs. “Hello! Come down here!”

It works, because seconds later, he hears heavy footsteps and the door swings open. He’s got half a mind to make a run for it, but after he sees the two bulky shadows appear in the doorway, he decides against it.

Good idea too, because one of them has a baseball bat.

The other has a gun.

“Mr. Andrews,” the taller of the two says, his voice carrying a thick Italian accent. “You’re awake.”

“What is this?” Fred says, willing his voice not to shake. “Where’s my son? Why am I here? “

“You don’t know?” the smaller man says, and then, to the taller man, “He doesn’t know.”

The Italian man holds up the gun he’d been holding. Fred flinches as he shoves it in his face. “You’ve been shot before. Was it painful?”

If this were any other situation, Fred would smack the sick smirk right off his guy’s face. But he doesn’t, because this son of a bitch has a gun in his hand, and getting shot _was_ painful, and he’d really like to avoid it happening again. Instead, he swallows his pride and says, “Do whatever you want with me. Just don’t hurt my son.”

“Your son is fine, Fred,” the shorter man says. “You’re the one that’s in trouble.”

“You see,” the taller one growls, “when someone hurts our boss, it’s our job to enact revenge.” He rolls the bat in between his hands, and Fred tries not to think about how he used to do that for good luck before a tough game against Baxter High.

“I didn’t do anything,” Fred says, his voice betraying him as it comes out weak and grovely. “I swear. I didn’t hurt anyone. Please.”

“Ah,” the tall one says, stepping forward so he’s nose to nose with Fred. “Don’t worry-”

He’s cut off by the shrill ring of a cell phone, and the shorter man answers it on the first ring. Fred guesses the conversation lasts all of fifteen seconds before he comes back and takes the gun from his buddy.

When the man looks at him in confusion, he sticks the gun in his waistband and says, “Boss says not yet. Wants us to start slow.”

“Please,” Fred pleads, “please. I didn’t do anything. You have to believe me.”

“We can talk about the details later,” the tall one says, “but for now we have a present for you. From Mr. Lodge.”

He doesn’t know which one does it, but the next thing he knows, there’s a kick to his stomach, and then two rough hands holding his shoulders tight to keep him from fighting.

He’s sure he would’ve passed out from the pain soon enough, but the baseball bat to the skull had that part covered.


End file.
